


Everybody Get in Line

by saltstreets



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5888254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergio works at a minimart. Iker captains an amateur football team. Fernando just wants everyone to stop being so dramatic, you know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Get in Line

**Author's Note:**

> The most mundane of mundane AUs. But it gave me great joy to write, and hopefully it's fun to read. 
> 
> Remember when someone found [Sergio's doppelganger working as a mall cop?](https://twitter.com/__aco26__/status/658581187766693888) My imagination ran with it. Also, [Iker](http://alexoxladechamberlain.co.vu/post/135466060709). 
> 
> Anyways, it's been in the works for ages and it's finally done. It's silly and fluffy! It's a convenience store AU! Fernando is there! Read on!
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from the Barenaked Ladies. Their greatest hits album was my writing soundtrack this time around.

 

 

“Come on, come on.” Fernando muttered, drumming his fingers impatiently along the top of the cash register. “Hurry up.”

Sergio rolled his eyes. “The clock won’t listen to reason, Nando. I’m starting to think it can’t even hear you.”

“I have to do something so I don’t die of boredom. D’you want me to sing instead?”

“God, no. You sound like a twelve year old and you have no sense of melody.”

“I do not! And I _do._ ”

“You do and you don’t. Anyway, it’s just half an hour longer.”

“A half hour of misery. Let’s start closing up now so we can be out of here right at seven. Spain is playing at quarter to eight and I want to be in front of the television, preferably with food, at the starting whistle.”

“It’s only a qualifier. And we’re top of the group anyway.”

“ _It’s only a-_ the Sergio Ramos I know would _never_ say those words in such a careless tone, who are _you_?” Fernando narrowed his eyes. “Hang on- the reason you’re not all eager to close up shop; it’s not because of that guy, is it?”

Sergio blushed.

“Oh my god, it totally is! I can’t believe it- Sergio, if you-”

“Shut _up,_ there he is.” Sergio hissed, jabbing a finger in the direction of the glass doors, through which an approaching figure could be seen.

The automatic doors glided open and the electronic chime sounded, pointless at that time of evening, as the only two people in the store were Sergio and Fernando and both of them had their eyes fixed on the entrance.

The newcomer smiled somewhat awkwardly in the direction of the register. “Hello.”

Fernando managed to drag his best customer service smile across his face. Sergio beamed. “Hi.”

The guy paused to grab a basket from beside the newspaper rack by the door and then disappeared behind the shelving, headed in the direction of the bread aisle. The second he was out of sight Fernando turned to fix Sergio with a stare.

Sergio blushed harder.

“You’ve only seen him like, twice. How are you so gone on him already?”

“Shut up, oh my god,” Sergio whispered furiously. “He’ll hear you!”

“No he won’t.” Fernando replied calmly. “The lights in the bread aisle have gone weird and they buzz really loudly. He can’t hear a thing.”

“Fuck, do they really?” Sergio groaned. “Great. I’ll add that to my ‘to fix’ list.”

“You should probably be getting paid more than you are,” Fernando said, idly. “For security _and_ general maintenance.”

Sergio shrugged. “Yeah, but when was the last time I was actually needed for _security_? No one would rob this place. Unless they were really into canned goods or something.”

Fernando thought about it. “Well, there was that kid last month who started ripping open all the cereal boxes looking for the prizes, and you had to like, restrain him. That was wild.”

“Oh yeah.”

They took a moment of fond remembrance.

“But anyway, you should still be paid more. And why’re you so nobly resigned about it? Just join me in complaining about the cruelty of our grocery overlords for once, why don’t you.”

“When did you get so bitter, Nando?” Sergio asked absently, still watching the bread aisle in anticipation of the object of his affections reappearing. “You used to be so sweet and cheerful.”

“Since I started working at this place, mostly.”

Their lone customer emerged from the bread aisle, and, after a short jaunt into the frozen food section, arrived at the till. Sergio hastily stepped aside from where he was leaning on the counter in front of Fernando.

“Good evening, how are you,” Fernando said, brightly, smile only slightly pasted on. Never let it be said that he wasn’t good at his job.

“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“Very well, thanks.” Fernando began ringing up the items. A loaf of bread, two frozen pizzas, some Cola Cao. Sergio took advantage of the moment of distraction to surreptitiously examine the guy. He was wearing a light jacket and what seemed to be athletic shorts, and a pair of football socks pushed down around his calves. Must be on a rec team or something.

Slightly bizarre outfit aside, the guy was every bit as hot as Sergio’d remembered from last Friday: broad shoulders and fine cheekbones, and dark eyes under a shock of fluffy brown hair.

“Have a nice evening.” Fernando was saying cheerfully.

“Thanks, you too.”

The second the doors had _whoosh_ ed closed behind him, Fernando turned on Sergio. “Okay, explain.”

“What is there to explain! He’s been in here around this time for the past three Fridays now and I think he’s cute! So what!”

Fernando raised a sceptical eyebrow. “And how many people come through here in a week, exactly? And you just happened to remember this one guy?”

Sergio shrugged. “I remember pretty people. It’s not a big deal.”

“Nuh-uh.” Fernando shook his head. “This is more than just a ‘oh, he’d look good in a tux for our wedding’ idle fantasy thing, you have a full-on _crush._ ” He made a face. “He was a bit sweaty. Is that the kinda guy you want to be chasing?”

“I think he plays football before he comes here. He was wearing the socks.” Sergio speculated dreamily.

“Hey, Earth to Sergio?” Fernando waved a hand in front of Sergio’s face. “I know you’re all in love and everything but the rest of us have Euro qualifiers to watch and Chinese takeout leftovers in the fridge waiting for them. Can we wrap it up here?”

Sergio looked at the clock. It was 6:53. “Oh, yeah. Come on, let’s close up quick before anyone else tries to buy something.”

Fernando rolled his eyes. “Oh, so you haven’t totally lost your mind. Just for that one dude.”

“Don’t make me hop the counter and smother you.” Sergio warned.

“You would never,” Fernando said airily. “You love me and you know it.”

 

\--

 

It was Friday and as usual by the time six o’clock rolled around both Sergio and Fernando were getting antsy, albeit for different reasons. There were a few more stragglers than usual, so Sergio couldn’t just hang over the counter and chat with Fernando as he usually did, because Fernando was occupied actually doing his job. Fernando was generally more busy than Sergio, because unless there was a spill to clean up or a light-fingered teenager to stare down, Sergio spent the majority of his shift hanging about, keeping a benevolent but watchful eye out, sure, but more-than-just-occasionally drifting off into a stupor of inaction.

He was thinking about changing jobs, actually. Sergio went to the gym and took care to keep in shape but he could just tell- a life of hanging about a grocery store for hours wasn’t good for him. He was beginning to get an ache in his knee from standing inert, and he was worried that being inside was making him vitamin D deficient. Fernando had laughed at the idea but Sergio was certain that there were more adverse health effects to working here than previously suspected.

But for now he was content enough, working an easy job. He had Fernando except for on Tuesdays when the evening shift at the till was covered by a bubbly French exchange student working part-time, and he had- well, he wasn’t going to say that a passing interest in a good-looking stranger had rekindled his will to continue in his current post but. It hadn’t hurt the situation.

“I don’t know what you see in him,” Fernando said darkly. “People who come into a store in the last half-hour before closing represent the worst species of human.”

“Nando,” Sergio said, hurt.

“You know it’s true.”

“Yeah, okay, but. Not him.”

Fernando fixed him with a sceptical look.

“Would you get annoyed by Olalla if she came in here at 6:45?” Sergio demanded, defensively.

“Um, _no_ ,” Fernando said, “because she’d probably be here to pick me up, ‘cause she’s my fiancée and we literally live in the same house. You don’t even know this guy’s _name._ ”

This was true enough. Sergio _didn’t_ know his name. He frowned in consternation. Fernando observed the discontent play out across his face with mild amusement. Sergio was more than an open book: he was practically a billboard, advertising his inner running dialogue at all times.

“Cheer up,” Fernando advised. “Maybe he’ll give you his name in a vision. In a dream. Or do you not waste time talking when you dream about him?”

Sergio gave Fernando a dirty look. Fernando blew him a kiss.

At 6:47 the doors slid open and the as-of-yet-nameless-but-beloved-none-the-less entered. He was wearing sweatpants and a harried expression, and smiled apologetically in the direction of the counter, obviously aware of the time, and vanished into the aisles. Sergio looked at Fernando meaningfully. “See? He’s repentant. He understands.”

“Suuure.”

When he re-emerged the guy had a basketful of breakfast items and baking ingredients. Sergio hadn’t _exactly_ been tracking the kind of food that the guy purchased, but he’d been paying enough attention to have come to the assumption that it was a weekend shopping run, and that the guy seemed to sometimes have to cook for a lot of people, taking quantities into account.

Okay, so maybe Sergio _had_ been tracking what’d been bought. So sue him. It was a dull job.

“Iker Casillas.” Fernando said triumphantly. Sergio was still watching the guy’s retreating back through the doors. “Hey, Sergio. Iker Casillas.”

Sergio shook himself out of whatever infatuated daze he’d fallen into. “What? Who’s that?”

“Your dreamboat. Iker Casillas. Unless he has a credit card under a false name, in which case- well, that’d be kinda cool, actually. Mysterious.”

“Iker Casillas.” Sergio said, rolling the name around his mouth. “Huh.”

“At least now you know what to write in your diary surrounded by little hearts,” Fernando said cheerfully.

 

\--

 

The store had been deserted for the past hour save for its two long-suffering Friday evening employees. It had been a slow day for the grocery industry. Not that either of them minded: they were getting paid the same amount whether ten or a hundred people decided they were in dire need of paper towels and chocolate, and a slow day was infinitely preferable to a busy one.

Sergio had decided to take advantage of the empty store by finally fixing the buzzing light in the fixture above the bread aisle, and he was busy changing the long fluorescent bulb when he accidentally knocked his elbow against the plaster ceiling, resulting in a shower of dust right to the face.

Sergio sneezed, once, twice- and the bulb slipped out of his fingers.

He winced automatically, preparing for the sound of shattering glass and already queuing up a good curse to exclaim.

Nothing.

Sergio peered down, eyes still watering from the plaster dust. Iker was crouched below him at the foot of the ladder, holding the light bulb. A few steps away lay his shopping basket, apparently dropped. He grinned up at Sergio sheepishly and straightened himself, bulb still cradled in his arms. “Hi.”

Sergio looked between Iker holding the light bulb and the discarded shopping basket and put two and two together. He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Wow. Good reflexes.”

Iker held out the light bulb. “I play goalkeeper for my local football team, if I see something falling, I go for it.” he shrugged and laughed sheepishly at his own instincts. “Iker Casillas, by the way.” He half-raised his hand to shake before stopping himself, realising that Sergio was still up the ladder.

“Sergio Ramos,” Sergio said, internally dancing the salsa. It didn’t even matter that Fernando had already told him Iker’s name: credit cards had _nothing_ on actually being delivered the information in person by the man himself. Iker had volunteered his name when he really hadn’t needed to, and Sergio wanted to grab onto that thread and pull at it until it lead him somewhere he wanted to go. So he grinned down at Iker, and didn’t make a move to continue replacing the bulb. “Thanks for catching this thing, it would have been a nightmare to clean up if it had shattered.”

“I’m just glad _you_ didn’t fall off the ladder,” Iker replied, “I don’t know if I’d have been able to catch you instead of the bulb.” He was smiling but his ears had gone slightly red. Sergio’s internal salsa had morphed into a whole conga line featuring multiple copies of himself. There was definitely an edge of flirting in Iker’s voice. No _way_ was he going to pass up this opportunity.

“I’m sure you would have done your best,” he returned, not quite laying it on as thick as he would have if he’d been in say, a club, instead of up a ladder in a grocery store wearing an honest-to-god walkie talkie on his belt.

“So, goalkeeper.” Sergio continued, beginning to slot the bulb back in place but carefully still giving Iker enough attention to keep the conversation going. “I used to play on a team with a couple guys I knew. Centre-back.” He grinned suddenly at his own memory. “Our keeper always used to yell at us, no matter what we were doing.”

Iker smirked. “It’s our job to yell at the defence,” he returned easily. “How else would you know what to do, where to go? Can’t trust you to think it out for yourselves.”

The tone of the conversation had changed, ever so slightly, from the cautious, searching flirtatious edge to something friendlier and more genuine that, while a loss for Sergio’s libido, was a great vote for Iker as more than just a hot guy who had good taste in the brands of tinned food he bought.

He replaced the last screw on the light cover and clambered down the ladder. From seemingly miles away, he could hear Fernando cracking his chewing gum, but everything that wasn’t Iker and his gloriously disarrayed hair and goalkeeping skills was fairly unimportant at that moment.

Tragically, Iker didn’t seem to be labouring under the same tunnel-vision, and he smiled apologetically at Sergio. “I’m holding you up. You’ll be wanting to close up and go home.”

“No! No,” Sergio started to protest, sensing the conversation slipping out of his grasp. “Well, I mean- yes, obviously, but I mean. Don’t worry about it. You’re not holding me up at all.” He hovered awkwardly.

“Well, it was nice talking.”

“Yes! Nice talking to you. Iker.” Was it weird to call him by his first name? He’d been given his first name. But he was a customer. But still. Maybe-

“See you around, Sergio.” Iker gave a small wave, and continued on his way to the frozen foods section.

Sergio allowed himself to smash his face against the ladder in frustration. Goddammit. That could have gone better. He could hear Fernando snickering from the front of the store, able to hear everything thanks to the newly installed non-buzzing lighbulb. Fernando couldn’t see him, of course, but Sergio still sent a withering glare in his direction. Just in case Fernando could sense it.

 

\--

 

The following Friday Iker didn’t come alone. Far from it: at 6:30 the doors slid open to admit a train of a dozen or so guys in football gear, talking loudly and trailed by Iker looking very much put-upon.

It was like watching a large and unruly family, Sergio thought with amusement as the team (assuming that this _was_ the team and not just a random collection of amateur athletes that Iker had picked up along the way) tried slipping things into Iker’s shopping cart that he either vetoed or begrudgingly accepted. The entertainment value of the whole thing was diminished slightly by all the dirt and grass that had been tracked inside, but hearing Iker’s voice raised in irritation, “I am _not_ buying you a novelty chocolate map of Spain, put it _back_ Isco,” was almost worth the extra work he’d have to do before closing up.

“You’re grinning like an idiot again,” Fernando said, poking Sergio’s upper arm. “Get your face under control or he’s going to think you’ve totally lost it.”

Sergio struggled to bring his expression back to neutral. “I’m always smiling,” he tried to protest, finding it difficult. “I’m a naturally happy guy. It’s part of my friendly approach to customers.”

Fernando fixed him with a sceptical look. “I know. Which is why me pointing it out as unusual should tell you exactly how stupid in love you look right now.”

Sergio didn’t get a chance to defend himself because at that moment the gaggle finally emerged from the aisles, Iker shooing his team mates out the door before heading towards the register.

“I’m sorry about the commotion,” Iker said to Sergio apologetically, as Fernando rung up his items. He actually seemed like he meant it, too. Usually people who apologised to Sergio for their various misdeeds did so with a definite air of _but it is your job, so I don’t actually give a shit._ “They’re all coming back to my place and refused to wait outside. We’re in the final for the local tournament tomorrow so everyone’s a bit. Well. Riled up.” He made a rueful face. “I should have had them take their boots off, or wait outside.” He spoke with the air of a parent talking about unruly children.

Sergio was ready to dole out the usual assurances reserved for repentant customers that the destruction they had wrecked upon the grocery store was fine, perfectly fine, but Iker was still talking. “Look,” he said, “if you can get me a couple brooms I’ll have this cleaned up, I know it’s almost seven and you want to get home. I don’t want to have set your schedule back with this.”

Sergio blinked in surprise.

“I mean it.” Iker said seriously, turning to the doors through which his team mates could be seen playing keepy uppy. “MARCELO!”

Someone –presumably Marcelo- turned to look through the doors. Iker made a few demanding _come here_ gestures and Marcelo stuck his head back inside. “What’s up, capi?”

“Look at what you’ve done to this place. Get everyone inside so they can clean it up. It’s a mess.”

Marcelo opened his mouth as if to protest but Iker just looked at him with a single raised eyebrow that brooked no argument, and he shrugged. “Okay. Do we have brooms or should we have Isco lie down and we can just sort of move him about on the floor?”

Iker turned to Sergio expectantly. Sergio wordlessly handed him the key to the supply closet. There didn’t really seem to be much to say.

 

 

“Okay,” Fernando said out of the corner of his mouth as they watched Iker barking orders and directing his team in the procedure of floor sanitation, “I’ll admit it. The whole commanding thing is pretty hot.”

“God, I _know,_ ” Sergio muttered back as Iker smacked one of the smaller ones around the head for improper use of a mop, “It’s not even _fair._ ”

“When are you going to ask him out,” Fernando pushed, jabbing Sergio in the arm.

“ _Nando_ ,” Sergio said, with great suffering, “I don’t even know if he _likes_ me.”

“You told me he was flirting with you last week,” Fernando reminded him. “And anyway, what does that matter? Just ask him out and he’ll either say yes or no. You can figure it out as you go along, that’s the _point.”_

“Look, just because you’re pretty enough that you can go around asking people out all over the place doesn’t mean that the rest of us can. Some of us want security before we do things.” Sergio said reproachfully. Fernando preened.

“I’m pretty? Thanks Sergio, that’s sweet of you to say.” He smiled beatifically. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Sergio grabbed a copy of Marca from the counter display and smacked him with it. Fernando didn’t seem unduly bothered.

 

 

 “By the way,” Iker said as the last of his team mates trickled outside. The floors were practically sparkling. “if you have the time tomorrow you should come watch the match. Ought to be a good one, and maybe afterwards I can buy you a drink? As an apology for all the mess.”

Sergio schooled his face into pleased acquiescence, rather than the elated victory that was threatening to break through. “That’d be great,” he said enthusiastically. “What time’s kickoff?”

“Six. Oh, and here- could I borrow a pen?”

Sergio produced one promptly, grateful for once that he wore such a ridiculous get-up for his job that included keeping pens in his pocket.

Iker pulled out his wallet and extracted the neatly folded receipt that Fernando had given him earlier, and scrawled a string of digits on the back of it. “My number. Just in case. See you tomorrow?”

It was genuinely all Sergio could do not to start singing. “Tomorrow.”

 

\--

 

‘Tomorrow’ turned out to be drizzling with rain, not enough to cancel the match by far but enough to make complicate the conditions. It may have been only a local tournament but the turn-out was large, and Sergio ended up on the rickety stand squashed between two excitable families. He was at Iker’s goal end during the first half but had to crane his neck to watch him for the second. But by that point Sergio wasn’t just watching Iker anymore as there was some genuinely good football being played, and despite the rain the crowd was energetic. He had never been able to resist the pull of a good atmosphere.

The match ended 2-0 to Iker’s side, handily won. There was a small, battered trophy awarded and then Iker was extracting himself from the gaggle of his cheering team mates and making his way over to Sergio, a wide smile on his face, hair plastered to his forehead from the rain and long strips of tape still wrapped around his wrists.

“You made it!” he said, his voice peppered underneath with excitement and energy.

Sergio beamed at him. “Obviously- great game, by the way, congratulations.”

Iker’s eyes went crinkly around the corners and Sergio’s heart melted further. “Still interested in drinks? I just need to clean up and change and then I know a good place we can walk to from here, if you don’t mind the rain.”

Privately, Sergio thought that the way Iker’s sodden goalkeeping kit was clinging against his stomach meant that he might conceivably never complain about rain ever again. He shook his head. “Sounds perfect. I’ll wait here?”

 

 

The bar Iker knew was only a five minute walk away, and was the pleasant sort of crowded that allowed for privacy while still being quiet enough that conversation wasn’t impossible.

“So.” Sergio said, peering at Iker over the top of his beer, “you didn’t mention that you guys are _good_ at football. Thought you were an amateur team!”

Iker grinned, pleased. “Regional champions for the past three years,” he said with an edge of pride in his voice. “They’re a nightmare to deal with but they know how to play.”

It made Sergio miss his team, hearing the warmth with which Iker spoke of his. By time he’d finished his second beer he was fairly secure in the knowledge that he wanted Iker to talk about him that way, some day, with that same pride and easy familiarity. He wanted Iker to talk about him that way and more.

“I told Marcelo I’d swing by his place tonight for the ‘victory party’.” Iker rolled his eyes, the quotations around the last two words evident in his tone, albeit affectionately. “Would you- I’m sure no one would mind if you wanted to come along.”

A very loud voice in Sergio’s head yelled YES but he managed not to articulate it, opting instead for a quick shake of the head. “Don’t worry about it. Wouldn’t want to gate-crash.” Iker opened his mouth but Sergio waved him off. “Seriously. Team-bonding and stuff. I know.” He smiled, and to his slight embarrassment felt the expression go shy around the edges. “Thanks for the drinks though, this was great. Really great.”

“It’ll mostly be drinking and then playing FIFA while drinking.” Iker made a face.

Sergio laughed. “Team bonding at its _finest._ ” He paused. “See you on Friday, then?”

Iker looked surprised for a second –as if Sergio _hadn’t_ picked up his simple shopping schedule- and then smiled. Sergio’s mind made a lot of embarrassingly mushy comparisons with the sun. All of them were apt.

 

\--

 

A few weeks –and a few more games and drinks- later Iker entered to find Sergio practically lurking in wait for him.

“You weren’t in last week,” Sergio mentioned casually, trying to make it seem as though he hadn’t been watching the door like a hawk waiting for Iker to enter, and then been disappointed by his failure to make an appearance. And then had spent a few hours moaning to a disinterested Fernando that he’d been too forward and had frightened Iker off.

“Right,” Iker said, “practice ran a bit late. And by that I mean we did a twenty minute scrimmage but ended with a tie and Cris insisted on doing a whole penalty shoot-out.” He suddenly frowned. “I’m sorry, by the way; I always come in here practically at closing time. That must be irritating.”

“Oh no,” Sergio reassured him hastily, even though over Iker’s shoulder he could see Fernando at the register, who’d been clearly eavesdropping and was now making exaggerated gestures presumably meant to indicate agreement with Iker’s statement. “It’s not a problem at all. We’re open until we’re closed, after all.” _We’re open until we’re closed._ Christ, Ramos, get a hold of yourself. You might be an idiot but you should at least try to hide that fact when talking to someone as intelligent and attractive and lots of other flattering adjectives as Iker. He smiled weakly. He was an adult, this was fine.

This was getting out of hand.

 

 

“Just ask him on a real date, _god,_ ” Fernando complained as Sergio locked the doors behind them. “You’ve basically already been on a few and it’s getting painful. I feel like I’m watching a really drawn-out telenovela with terrible dialogue.”

“Stop listening in on our conversations, then!”

“I literally can’t. You’re always right in front of me. Why can’t you flirt when he’s in the far corner by the cheeses or something?”

Sergio frowned. “I don’t want to follow him around while he’s shopping, Nando.”

“More than you already do, you mean?”

“Shut up.”

Fernando just grinned lazily and blew a chewing gum bubble at him. “Ask him next week. I dare you. You’ve been to what- three of his games now? It’s time.”

“What would we even _do_?”

A shrug. “I dunno. Walk around the city. Marathon _Lord of the Rings._ And I’m talking director’s cut extended editions, if you’re serious about this relationship.”

“Don’t be such a fucking nerd. Quit- wait.”

Fernando’s carefree expression slipped slightly as a slow smile spread across Sergio’s face. “What? That’s...an evil look.”

“Okay, since you’re _sooo_ eager to have me ask out Iker, I _will._ But if he says yes...I’m taking him to the Madrid derby next Saturday.”

“You _wouldn’t,_ ” Fernando said, his face a mask of horror. “Sergio! You got those tickets for us! That’s _our_ date! We have the after-party snacks all planned out!”

“Look, I’m just saying that you’re the one who wouldn’t shut up. You’ve brought this on yourself.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d ditch me and steal my ticket!”

Sergio shrugged. “Tough. Bright side, though, if he says no you can still be my back-up. Although the whole time I’ll want to fucking die because I need him to love me.”

“Atletico’s going to crush your pack of idiots into the dirt anyway,” Fernando said bitterly. “And then you two can cry about it and I’ll be at home, _laughing._ ”

 

\--

 

By the next Friday, Fernando had gotten over the loss of his ticket and, after forcing Sergio to promise him that they would go to the next derby together, had fully come around to the idea of Sergio taking Iker.

“I see it this way,” he explained, hanging over the counter while Sergio restocked the shelves. Fernando never bothered to help, usually citing that if he left the counter he could be abandoning some customers to poor service, an argument that didn’t hold much water seeing as the store was generally empty in the early morning when they got deliveries, but one that Sergio let him get away with mostly because Fernando being ‘helpful’ was more accurately Fernando throwing things onto the shelves at random and complaining. “If Iker agrees to go out with you, you’ll stop mooning over him whenever he comes in here. And then I won’t have to listen to your lovesick sighing that starts up every day when the clock hits six.”

“I don’t _sigh!”_

“Oh my god, you so _do,_ don’t even start, Sergio!”

The argument likely would have continued and become increasingly high-pitched and ridiculous but at that moment the door opened to admit their first customer, and the day began proper.

 

 

When six o’clock rolled around Fernando cleared his throat loudly and obnoxiously. “Okay, Sergio, prime pining time begins- now!”

Sergio put his nose in the air and refused to look at him, miffed. “Whatever, god.”

“You are going to ask him out today, right?”

Sergio deflated, insulted act dropping. “Ugh. Yes. I think. No. Probably?”

“I haven’t seen you this worked up about asking someone out since, well, since forever, maybe,” Fernando said, curiously. “You really like this guy, huh.”

Sergio nodded miserably. “I dunno, he’s just- interesting and nice and good at football and kinda grouchy but in a charming way and like, not really cool but great, I think he’s great.”

“And really hot.”

“And really hot, yeah, that too.”

They stood there for a moment, ruminating on Iker’s agreed-upon physical endowments, before Sergio broke the silence. “I don’t even know how I’m going to ask him.”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “Huh. The Sergio I know would just sort of charge up and go for it. Maybe even rip his shirt off in the process.”

“Oh, come _on,_ I’ve never ripped my shirt off in _any_ situation.”

“That doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about doing it.”

Sergio grumbled something under his breath but didn’t deny it.

 

 

Iker made his appearance at exactly twenty-one minutes to closing time, and, with a brief wave to the two employees loitering at the till, made his rounds briskly to the bread aisle, the frozen foods section, and the condiments while aforementioned employees whispered frantically amongst themselves, Sergio moaning in an undertone to Fernando that he had _no fucking clue what to say, oh my god Nando why did I let you talk me into this,_ and Fernando hissed back that _it’s a part of growing up, stop gripping my arm like you’re drowning Sergio, seriously._

“Okay, he’s coming back around-” Fernando dug a sharp elbow into Sergio’s spine. “Go stand by the door and try to look suave.”

Sergio scrambled into position just as Iker emerged, and loitered nervously as he paid. By the time that Iker was collecting his receipt from Fernando, Sergio more or less had a script set in his head.

“Hi Iker,” he said, leaning against the newspaper rack in what he hoped was a casual manner.

Iker gave him a nod and a half wave, shopping bags weighing down his hands. “Hey Sergio.”

“Hey, I was wondering-” he was almost derailed by the sight of Fernando over Iker’s shoulder, grinning widely and flashing him an exaggerated thumbs-up- “um, wondering if you were free on Saturday night?”

“Yes,” Iker said cautiously. Fernando was leaning over the counter, chin propped in his hands, fixated. He might as well have been eating popcorn.

“Great! That’s great because, um, you mentioned, that one time ages ago, that you supported Real, and I’ve got two tickets for the match and if you wanted to go, I mean, if you wanted to go with me, I thought maybe we could go. To the match. Together.”

Fernando rolled his eyes behind Iker and gave Sergio an _okay, you sounded a bit stupid there but whatever, it did the job_ wave of his hand. Sergio fidgeted. He hadn’t been this nervous asking anyone out on a date since he was twelve, asking his first girlfriend if she wanted to get ice cream.

“I’d like to,” Iker said, lip quirked in a smile. “as a date?”

“That was the idea, yeah.”

He tried not to squirm. Iker was looking at him appraisingly and Sergio felt as though he was being sized up.  He hoped his hair looked okay. He hadn’t checked it in at least twenty minutes. Anything could have happened since then.

“Sounds good.”

Sergio blinked. “Yeah?”

“Definitely.” Iker smirked faintly, as though he knew that his easy acquiescence in the face of Sergio’s worked up worries had left him feeling somewhat floored. “I can drive if you want, where do you live?”

 

\--

 

Real Madrid secured a nail-biting victory over Atletico 2-1 with a winning goal in the eighty-sixth minute, with Iker shouting despairingly at the defence most of the time. Sergio sent off a few smug texts to Fernando, who had definitely been watching miserably on television, and they found themselves swept out of the stadium in the crowd, all chanting and practically jumping their way along, the stands rattling with the heavy feet of thousands. The air was buzzing, alight with the evening and the victory, and Sergio felt it humming through him even when they were back in Iker’s car, the singing muffled through the closed doors and the lights of the stadium fading in the rear view mirror.

“So I would call that a success all around,” Sergio began, speaking about the game, although the words had barely left his mouth before he realised that it sounded unbearably confident vis-à-vis their _date._ He cringed internally but Iker only grinned, eyes fixed on the road like a good driver. “The match or the evening?”

“Um, both?” Sergio answered, gamely trying to both save face and prove that he wasn’t _so_ arrogant. “I mean- I had a good time. And not just because we won. Maybe we could go out again sometime, if you wanted.”

Iker still didn’t look away from the road, but Sergio could see him smiling, face illuminated in the headlights of the cars going the opposite direction.

\--

 

Later, Sergio would emphatically claim that it was not his fault. He was in the aisle with the yogurts, cleaning up a spill from earlier and so didn’t see the guy come into the store. He was standing by the entrance in full view of the till at nearly every other moment that he spent at work, but of course it would have to be the one time he was busy that someone happened to be less non-violent than their usual brand of customer.

So Sergio was mopping when he became aware of a low voice speaking very quickly, and Fernando’s reply, raised a solid octave above his usual range.

“Yes- sorry! Please- I’ll open the register, just don’t-”

Every nerve in Sergio’s entire _being_ started humming at an aggressive frequency. He moved quietly towards the front of the store, hearing the sound of the till opening and the brush of cash being moved.

As he came into view of the till, he saw a man in a plaid shirt and jeans, crowded up to the counter in front of Fernando, his face uncharacteristically drawn tight with fear as he emptied the register. The man moved his arms slightly and Sergio could see the gun in his hand. The gun in his hand, now not trained directly on Fernando as he reached for the cash-

Sergio had never been the quickest on his team when he’d played. He’d never been possessed of the raw speed or agility like some of their better forwards, but what he _did_ have was a considerable amount of height and muscle, and the nerve to fling his full weight into action without hesitation.

The gun wasn’t pointed at Fernando- and Sergio _tore_ out from behind the shelving and flung himself in a hard, low tackle, figurative studs-up, right into the back of the man’s knees. Fernando saw him coming the second he’d emerged and ducked behind the counter but it didn’t matter: the gun never went off. Sergio struck home and the man went toppling forward, knees collapsing, head-first into the hard steel counter top, his skull cracking against the edge with a dull _thud_. He slumped to the ground, the gun spinning from suddenly limp fingers away across the tiles.

Sergio was sprawled on his side, feet tangled with the man’s legs, breathing hard. There was a rushing of blood in his ears and a kind of sharp, over-saturated quality to his vision brought on by adrenaline.

He stood shakily, gripping the counter. “Fernando?”

Fernando rose from where he’d been crouching, eyes wide. “W-what happened?” He peered over the counter at the man on the floor. “Did you- did you kill him?”

Sergio kneeled beside the prone form and tentatively felt about his neck. “No,” he said, somewhat doubtfully after a moment. “He has a pulse. Just knocked out, I think. Concussed, maybe.”

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” Fernando said, and suddenly he shivered down his whole body, hands trembling. “Fuck I- I thought he was going to, I thought-”

“Hey, Nando,” Sergio said, concerned, jumping up to swing himself over the counter and wrap Fernando in a bear hug, “No one’s going to do anything to you. That’s why they hired me as security, right?”

“Yeah,” Fernando said, voice muffled into Sergio’s chest. “I guess.”

“You okay?”

“No. Hug me some more.”

“Like it’s a chore,” Sergio cooed, squeezing Fernando tightly. “Also, someone should call the cops, maybe.”

“Oh...right.”

 

 

“I swear, I’ll never complain about Iker again if he’s the only guy who ever comes in here past six from now on,” Fernando said fervently while they waited for the police to arrive. It was almost half past. “He might always squeeze in the doors just when we’re about to close them but at least he’s never threatened me with a weapon.”

“I know, he’s perfect.”

“You might need to raise your standards for ‘perfect’, Sergio.”

Just then there was a bevy of flashing lights outside in the parking lot and the store quickly dissolved into chaos, with police officers scrambling all over the place, asking questions and poking things. The unfired gun was carefully collected and the scattered bills from the register accounted for and restored to their rightful place.

“He is alive, right?” Sergio asked, worriedly as an officer inspected the still-motionless body on the ground. “I don’t want to like, go to jail for killing this asshole.”

He was just being reassured that the attacker did still have a pulse and that they were only waiting for the EMTs to come in and take him away, when there was a sudden minor commotion from the front of the store. A few police moved hastily towards the entrance, and Sergio could hear Iker’s voice raised unmistakably to the volume usually reserved for shouting at defenders out of position.

“ _Excuse_ me but that’s my- my boyfriend, in there, and I would _appreciate_ it if you’d let me through,” Iker had managed to force his way past the officers trying to prevent him from entering and the glass doors slid open to allow him to march inside, still wearing his football boots.

“Sergio,” he said, flinging a last icy frown at the police officers who had attempted to stop him from reaching his destination, “What’s going on here?”

Sergio had still been buzzing a bit on the adrenaline of having foiled an actual real-life attempted armed robbery, but at the sight of Iker with his eyebrows knitted together and his hands planted on his hips in consternation, his knees went a bit wobbly with sudden exhaustion.

“Some asshole tried to hold the place up. With a gun, right,” Fernando piped up from behind them, “but Sergio took him out with a flying tackle and smashed him into the counter. Complete red card but like, life-saving. It was great.”

“Someone came in here with a gun,” Iker said slowly, “and you attacked them. Unarmed.”

Sergio shrugged modestly. “I wasn’t going to let him threaten Fernando and walk off with all the cash, was I? I do get a pay check for this kind of thing.” He hoped he sounded cool, as though he regularly took on armed criminals. Nothing like a little heroism to boost the image, not to mention the ego.

“What if he hadn’t gone over, though?” Iker objected, hands worriedly reaching out and brushing the dust off Sergio’s shirt from where he had slid along the floor. Probably a sign of sloppy sweeping-up the previous evening. “You could have been shot.”

“When I slide tackle someone, they go down.” Sergio said smugly, ignoring Fernando’s incredulous snicker from behind him. “I told you, I play centre-back.”

Iker’s brow unfurrowed slightly with unbidden amusement. “You should really join the team. I could even see if I can move practices to Wednesday evening so you could make it.”

“Wednesdays, huh. Might get in the way of Champions League matches.”

“I have a DVR, Sergio.”

“You said you were my boyfriend,” Sergio said, changing the subject abruptly before he forgot (though he didn’t think he’d ever forget), a smile creeping over his face.

Iker coloured. “Yes, well, I wanted them to let me in, I mean I drive up and see a bunch of police cars so I was obviously worried, so I had to- but also. I was thinking- would you?”

Sergio’d never heard Iker talk around something so much, stammering and working about the issue as he was now. It was- kind of adorable, honestly. He grinned wider. “Would I what?”

Iker’s blush deepened. “Would you go out with me. As a regular thing. Possibly sooner rather than later.”

Sergio was vaguely aware of the fact that there were police wandering about waiting for the EMTs to be ready and an unconscious would-be gunman lying on the tiled floor, and also that he was probably wearing one of what Fernando called his _dopey expressions_ , looking at Iker as if he’d discovered the secrets to the universe instead of just asked Sergio to be in a relationship. Sergio was also vaguely aware of the fact that he didn’t give a shit: Iker was smiling at him and he thought that maybe they were holding hands, but in his current state of floating somewhere above the clouds he couldn’t quite be sure.

Fernando’s voice, raised in a petulant complaint, pierced through the veil of bliss. “Isn’t anyone going to tenderly hold _my_ hand? I’ve just been threatened by a firearm, I’m fragile!”

“I’ll kiss it better later, Nando,” Sergio said absently, still smiling at Iker without any intention of stopping any time soon. “Just give me a second, okay?”

 

 

 

https://twitter.com/__aco26__/status/658581187766693888

https://twitter.com/SergioRamos/status/658706602606874624

also this for Iker: http://alexoxladechamberlain.co.vu/post/135466060709


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